


i don't want to fall

by elbatross



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Drawing, M/M, Post-Canon, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbatross/pseuds/elbatross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik takes time to indulge in an old hobby of his and finally relax now that the Brotherhood has temporarily settled down. His mind and pen have differing ideas, leading him back to the man he'd left of the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't want to fall

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, originally on my [fic tumblr](http://anisoptempest.tumblr.com). Inspired by the song "Gravity" by Sara Barilles and the [discussion of how Erik keeps his space](http://sharkweekhomes.tumblr.com/post/35887206205/palalife-motleypatches-fealle), as well as the fact that he has other hobbies besides chess and books.  
> 

In the dead of the night, when he’s sure Raven isn’t prowling the halls near his room and that Emma won’t nudge into his head, Erik strips down to nothing and shrugs into a thick, dark robe. A flick of his wrist locks the door, another puts the needle on the record, and the lightest twist brings his pen to his hand. All that’s left is to settle into bed and turn to a blank page in his journal.

Then he starts to sketch.

It’s nothing grand at first, a pigeon here, a flower there. Gold bricks, pocket watches tucked into vests, maybe even a mannequin with a floral printed dress he’s seen Raven eyeing on one of their outings, anything at all. They turn to people after a while, some of them humans he remembers from his childhood, others his new team mates in various poses. Emma in her furs with eyes narrow, concentrating, or Janos mixing a drink. There was Azazel juggling next, expression blank as he shifted a few weapons and fruit between his hands and his tail. Raven follows, arm stretching before her to admire a ring she morphed onto her finger and wearing a dress she saw in a Monroe film. He smirks at that, making sure to put a little extra attention to the scales on her skin and noting in the corner to pick up some colored pencils on his next free day. His next face is almost feline, and he hardly realizes who he’s drawing until he gets to the glasses, frowning when he finds Hank staring back at him all furred with a button up sporting rolled up sleeves and a wrench. He sighs, the next few lines looping to draw a laughing face and thick curls.

Sean follows with a triumphant laugh, hand grasped around the top of a bag of goldfish, then Alex and Darwin with their arms thrown around the others shoulder. There’s Angel with her wings and a blonde version of Raven, chatting about something with Moira. He isn’t pleased to have drawn her, but his hand lead him to that and he dread who he has to draw next. Erik can close the book right now and stop, give up and turn over to go to sleep, but instead he turns the page and starts to carefully structure his next subject’s face. There’s an impish purse of lips, the lower one almost tender enough to have been bitten moments ago, and a hand against a round and stubble pricked cheek to cradle his face. His hair is in waves and rumpled, as well as the cardigan clinging to broad shoulders. The man’s free hand holds a chess king, the white one like usual, and he’s nearly finished save for the rough outline of eyes. Erik is most careful with those, calling his blue pen to the bed as he finishes.

Watching him from the paper is Charles, fond and interested after being interrupted while working on one thing or another. The only color on the page are his eyes, bright blue with intrigue, and Erik can do nothing but chase them with his pen.

There are soon more sketches of Charles all across the page, some bright and animated and others dozing gently. All are in various states of dress, tuxes and oversized turtlenecks and nude, others posed proudly or lewdly. One in particular is on display before him, mouth opened in mid-moan as he screws his eyes shut, a play on a distant memory. The final Charles gets a page of his own, only his hips covered by a clinging sheet as if he were some Greek muse. He smiles warmly, something intimate in the set of his gaze and the soft part of his lips. Something suggests that its either very early or very late given that they’re sharing such a private look, and Erik finds himself adding his own hand curling close to Charles’s into the picture. Even now with all their distance, he feels like he can’t let go. Beneath his fingertips, a bit of ink around Charles’s hair smudges with the brush of skin to paper. Erik gives himself a minute before retiring his pens to his desk and setting the book down with a chill. He gets up to build a fire and gaze out the window to the cool streets below and reflect. While it isn’t London, he can imagine Charles all bundled up on a stroll with ruddy cheeks and nose, steam rising from his thermos of tea and Erik by his side.

That’s obviously be out of the question these days. Charles is unable to walk now, and even if he were to wheel about the city now, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Erik while chuckling. Things are vastly different now, and the pop of fire on wood brings him back from his thoughts of Charles. Erik puts another log on his fire and returns to his night table, picking up the journal and pulling out a few of the pages. All have spots of bright blue in pairs and all are tossed into the flames without hesitation.

Something always brings him back to Charles and makes his heart a little more likely to shatter, fragile with tender memories and little hopes. He has to remind himself that there’s no time or chance to go back now, even when his heart begs him to reconsider.


End file.
